Page 92 of The Light We Lost

I took another bite, and sure enough, it was apple. Before I could tell Shay that, Indy rasped, “Nolan, there’s an EpiPen in my bag—”

“An EpiPen?” I asked, confused why she had one of those, just as Shay gasped, “Oh my gosh, Indy—I gave you peach!”

Before I could understand what the big deal was, or why Indy’s lips were red and puffy, Shay scrambled out of the kitchen and into the living room. I sat frozen, clueless, as they sat on the floor and dumped out Indy’s bag, scrambling through its contents. Shay found what looked to be a thick yellow pen, and after a few mumbled instructions, she jabbed it into Indy’s thigh.

“I’m so sorry,” she said in a rush as Indy lay on her back, taking heavy breaths. “I swear that wasn’t an attempt to kill you. I really thought I gave you apple.”

Indy wheezed, the sound ending in a cough. “Are you sure you’re okay not being the only woman in their lives?”

They shared a shaky laugh, but I was too focused on counting Indy’s breaths to join them. The longer I watched her, the more I registered how I’d done nothing. Remembered how many peaches I had watched her eat growing up. Had her lips always been that swollen, her breaths that shallow each time she’d eaten one? How had I not noticed? How could I have been so careless with her?

With clear eyes and nothing to distract me, it was obvious Indy was allergic to peaches. I hadn’t known that, but I could’ve done something to help her.

Except I choked, again.

Indy glanced my way with watery eyes, and as she gave me a reassuring smile, it was then I remembered why I’d let her walk away in the first place.

Why I had no choice but to let her go again.

Chapter Forty-Five

Nolan—Then

The mattress creaked loudly, and the sound of shifting blankets drifted through the room as Indy struggled to get comfortable. I didn’t move, fighting the instinct to reach for her. She shuddered a breath, and I heard the unmistakable sound of quiet tears. I’d been with her the entire day, but it was the first time she’d cried. For the past two weeks, she’d waited until it was dark, until she thought I was asleep. I should reach for her. Close the few inches between us and wrap my arms around her. Take away the pain I’d given her.

But I didn’t know what to do. The times I’d tried reaching for Indy, she’d stiffened before pulling away. She didn’t talk. Not about the baby, not about anything. She was right beside me, but she’d never felt so far. I wanted to promise her she wasn’t alone. That I’d hold her hand and lead her out of this darkness, the same as she’d once done for me.

But what if she’d never led me out of it?

What if I’d just dragged her into it with me? Selfishly let it consume her, if only so I wouldn’t be alone. Like a poison, I’d infected and drained her, all because I hadn’t wanted her to leave me. Maybe she was finally seeing me for what I was. A burden. Maybe she was finally realizing what Mom had, that she’d be better off alone.

But Indy wasn’t like Mom. She wasn’t selfish, cold. She wouldn’t run. She’d give me everything she was, even when she had nothing left. She’d always put me first.

It was my turn to do the same.

I’d stayed up most of the night, talking myself through the hard decisions I needed to make. When Indy’s breaths were steady and my mind was made up, I fell asleep, solely so I couldn’t talk myself out of it. At the first sign of dawn, I slid out of bed and crept around the moving boxes scattered across the apartment before slipping out the front door.

It was Wednesday, and we had until the end of the week before we had to be out of the apartment. We’d packed most of our belongings, but I had a few odds and ends to wrap up before Dad drove up on Friday to help us move. Grabbing the textbooks I’d rented, I started across campus to return them. It would be quicker to drive, but my license was suspended for the next six months.

I’d expected some sort of jail time, or at least probation for driving under the influence, but since it was my first offense and my record was otherwise clean, I’d gotten off with a suspended license. I’d bet it had something to do with the judge assuming I’d learned enough of a lesson with losing not only my athletic scholarship but being permanently cut from the team. Surprisingly, I hadn’t been expelled from the university, but with no money or desire to pursue a degree, I’d dropped out.

I had no place here.

Finished, I hurried back to the apartment. Indy was probably up and packing. She wouldn’t admit it, but I knew it was straining against her recovering body. Halfway there, out of habit, I glanced at the baseball field. When I’d gone to the field house yesterday to return my gear, I thought I would feel ashamed to see my former teammates and coaches, even sad my baseball career was finished. But when I walked away, it wasn’t regret I felt. It was relief.

It was over.

My phone rang and I pulled it out, not surprised to see it was Dad. He’d never been one to hover, but since I’d been arrested, he’d called every day. Everything was out in the open. He knew about my drinking, even when I’d done it in highschool. He was aware how weak my mind was, though he promised he didn’t see it that way. Instead, he spewed nonsense about the importance of mental health. Claimed I wasn’t the first person to feel this way and threw around words like therapy and depression. I didn’t want to hear it. Didn’t care if there was a name to whatever I was feeling. Dad must’ve sensed that, as he’d sent Brooks over a time or two, likely to see if I was drinking.

I hadn’t drunk since my last game, but that wasn’t because I’d learned my lesson. I hadn’t changed. I was coming to accept I’d always be this way. Indy was the only reason I wasn’t reaching for a bottle right now, and even that was wearing thin.

After I assured Dad I was fine three times and we discussed what I’d texted him last night, he said, “I know it might not feel like it, but everything’s going to sort itself out. This isn’t the end.”

I didn’t waste time disagreeing with him.

After saying goodbye, I pushed open the door to the apartment. Like I’d suspected, Indy was awake and standing on a step stool, the smell of chemicals wafting through the room. Her back was to me, paintbrush in her hand, and my heart sank when I realized what she was painting over. She smeared white paint onto the wall, slowly covering the wildflowers she’d painted last semester.

When we moved in last August, my initial impression of our apartment was that it was a dump. It was stuffy and cold, the walls so white it almost felt clinical. I’d told Indy I would try to find us a better place for the next semester, but she insisted she didn’t mind. I’d thought she said that because she hadn’t wanted to make a fuss, but as she added pops of color and life, slowly transitioning the dingy apartment into our first home, I realized Indy had a talent for seeing things not for what they were, but what they could be.

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